


Marvelous

by factorielle



Series: Brand New Endings [12]
Category: Ookiku Furikabutte
Genre: Drabble Sequence, Future Fic, M/M, New York City
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-22
Updated: 2008-07-22
Packaged: 2017-11-01 23:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/factorielle/pseuds/factorielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanai left everything and went to New York to escape Tajima.<br/>It wasn't far enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i - x

**Author's Note:**

> I've encountered a bit of an accident with the first posting of this fic. As in, stupid (on my part) deletion. Sorry about that. :/
> 
> Story-wise: forever ago, when asked how Hanai and Tajima's story went in Brand New Endings, I kept answering that I'd write it when I got to it, and of course that never happened. So I started writing the resolution in drabbles. Lots of them. I kept them on my LJ in the hopes to one day turn them to a proper fic, but that never happened either. So here they are, even if a lot of the context is missing. :)

"What are you doing here?" he asks, right there on the steps with Tajima's arms wrapped around his shoulders. Tajima who's supposed to be half a world away, should have had no way to find him even if he'd tried, and never learned to bow to the impossible.

"You were gone a long time."

Hanai has learned that Tajima isn't so much easily distracted as incredibly quick in his associations. There might be a dozen complex but logical steps between _you were gone a long time_ and _so here I am_.

But Tajima never details; he leaves others to guess.

* * *

"Luggage?" Tajima tilts his head to peer at him curiously. His cheeks are flushed, his fingers -the most valuable part of him- red from the cold. "This is New York! I can get anything I need here!"

"Including a hotel room," Hanai retorts.

Three hours later, he's tossing and turning in his bed when something hits his seventh-floor window.

"My debit card doesn't work abroad," Tajima yells from the ground, and Hanai just knows that there will be rumors tomorrow about yakuza fighting it out in the neighborhood.

He lets him in, in the end. It's easier that way.

* * *

The first thing Hanai does after opening the door is send Tajima to warm himself up in the shower. Who in their right mind takes an intercontinental flight with no more luggage or preparation than a passport, a complete absence of weather-appropriate clothing (for either climate), and a debit card that doesn't work?

The second thing he does, he digs out the air mattress on which he slept for the first few weeks, the summer blanket and any extra bedsheets he owns. The nights are cold, and he's not prepared to have someone sleep over.

The third: he waits.

* * *

There's a hair dryer in the bathroom.

 _Just leave him alone_ , Abe said, before hinting that Izumi might help.

 _He even asked his family not to tell you anything. Don't you think there's a hint hidden somewhere?_ Izumi asked – but emailed him a phone number three days later.

Tajima pressed on through the next step and the one after. _What now_ is a question he doesn't ask himself; there's always a way.

Now he's here, but the innocuous piece of plastic and metal says _I've made myself comfortable, because I'm here to stay._

And Tajima doesn't know what to do.

* * *

Words are spoken. Not loud, not passionate, not argumentative. No question. Where to get breakfast, where to find a bank to fix the debit card situation, how early (early!) the alarm clock will ring tomorrow, what places to visit: all the information Hanai volunteers is relevant, explicit, useful.

He talks and talks and says nothing.

At some point during a lull in the onslaught of information, Tajima calls his name, just once.

Against all hopes, Hanai looks up from his attempt to turn a heap of fabric into a bed.

He looks up, and his gaze goes right through Tajima.

* * *

Hanai always wakes up before the alarm rings, but for once all is not silent when he opens his eyes.

He glances over the edge of the bed and finds Tajima tossing and turning in his nest of sheets and blankets. There's only a moment's hesitation before he carefully drops his own warm, heavy blanket on the moving heap.

The shivery twitches stop soon after, and Hanai leaves without Tajima ever waking up.

He barely gets to work on time, and finds a red post-it note stuck to his monitor: _Please call I.T. as soon as you get this._

* * *

"You should expect a sign from that Tajima guy," Izumi-san announces, forty seconds into the conversation. "He's been asking around, and Kousuke said I should warn you."

Hanai keeps quiet and listens to the extended tale of how Abe, Izumi, then Izumi's _brother_ were convinced into letting seep fragments of information – a name, a phone number, eventually his professional email address.

"When did this happen?" he asks when the semi-apologetic torrent of words trickles off, because what's the point of telling him this weeks after the facts?

"Not that long. He came to see me two days ago."

* * *

Tajima wakes up to the sun shining over him. After being cold most of the night, he's a little too warm now, and feels the weight of jetlag like a brick to the brain. He forces himself up anyway.

There's a note on the kitchen table asking him to make sure to close the warm tap properly, and detailed instructions about how to get to the bank.

The only thing it doesn't say is 'go away'.

 _I'm an idiot_ , he told Izumi back there, fingernails digging in his palms. _I can't take a hint_.

So he looks around some more.

* * *

The biggest frame holds a photograph of Hanai's family, probably taken right before his departure: the twins are subtly pouting, each clutching one of their brother's arm. He doesn't seem to mind.

The one over the nightstand is blurry and overexposed but precious nonetheless: from the home base of Koushien stadium, twenty-four members of the Nishiura baseball team make V signs at the camera.

Last but not least, there's Hanai's arm wrapped around Maeda-san's shoulders. He's looking at her while she grins at the camera, obviously encouraging the photographer to take the picture and save that moment forever.

* * *

Two days.

Forty-eight, maybe sixty hours to milk a single email address for enough information to find out where he lives, works and hangs out, and... what? Jump into a plane, not even bothering to grab a parka on the way?

Hanai is still pondering on the implications of this impulsive behavior when Sarah knocks timidly at his door to tell him there's a man asking for him in the lobby.

He asks her to tell the visitor that he doesn't have time for him.

She comes back seven minutes later with a hastily scribbled note: _what about lunch?_


	2. xi - xx

I have work to do.  
*  
BUT YOU NEED TO EAT  
*  
I can eat at my desk.   
*  
WHEN DO YOU GET OUT?  
*  
I don't know. Late.  
*  
I CAN WAIT  
*  
Go to the bank.  
*  
I ALREADY WENT BUT IT WON'T BE FIXED FOR THREE MORE DAYS  
*  
You can't stay in the lobby all day. People will think you're homeless. It's bad for business.  
*  
IT'S FINE! IT'S FINE, AND THE GUY AT THE HELPDESK IS A BASEBALL FAN. HE EVEN ASKED FOR AN AUTOGRAPH!  
*  
ARE YOU IN A MEETING?  
*  
THE COFFEE IN THOSE MACHINES SUCKS  
*  
DON'T IGNORE ME  
*  
I TALKED TO MAEDA-SAN.

* * *

Despite the notes that have been fluttering back and forth from his office to the lobby all day, Sarah knows Mr Hanai is busy. The throw-self-into-work-until-midnight kind of busy that earned him the respect of all his subordinates, despite being the boss's daughter's husband's brother's friend and a foreigner to boot.

But when the clock hits 5 he he crumples the latest note in his fist (he hasn't sent any back down for a few hours now) and barely says goodbye on his way out.

She's seen him irritated before, frustrated, annoyed.

But never angry.

* * *

For a moment Tajima is positive that Hanai is going to punch him, right here in the lobby of his own company.

He could protect himself from the blow, or preemptively argue that he had every right to track her down, after she slapped him on national TV. But she's the only innocent party in this, and it wasn't even the reason he sought her out anyway. So he just stands there and waits for it.

The moment passes. Hanai stops in front of him.

"Why?" he demands, and of course he's still furious.

But at least now he's looking.

* * *

"Why did you do that?" Hanai asks again once they've walked outside, away from curious stares.

"I wanted to apologize," The wind catches his oversized jacket when he spreads out his arms, slows him down for a second.

Hanai stops, turns to look at him. "You shouldn't have. It had nothing to do with-" Catches himself mid-lie. "You had no cause to go bother her, even if it was to apologize. This is none of your business."

Tajima holds his stare. "It is," he says, quiet but forceful. "It is if she left you because of what we did."

* * *

Passersby grumble against the two idiots standing in the middle of the way, the wind blows icy on Hanai's back, but all he can feel is his heart in his throat. "Drop it. That's not why she left me." Strictly (haha) speaking, it's the truth. Hikaru was nothing if not understanding; she would have forgiven a step on the road not taken.

But she isn't stupid either, or blindly optimistic. 

_It's not that you cheated on me that's been bothering you._

He can still hear the sound of the ring he'd given her being set on a table.

_It's Tajima Yuuichirou._

* * *

They don't talk on the way back. Hanai's obviously still angry but he doesn't protest being followed home. Only when the key's in the lock does he stop.

"How long are you staying here?"

"Well, the bank-"

"I mean here in town."

"I have a ticket back for next Tuesday." It doesn't quite answer the question, but Hanai nods and opens the door anyway.

Tajima waits until he's safely inside. "When are you coming back?" 

A pause, then "I'll be visiting for my birthday." The frustrating part isn't how reluctant he sounds.

It's that Hanai didn't answer the question, either.

* * *

Words are not Tajima's strong point.

Building up an argument, negotiating, convincing, that's not his area. Still, he can say the right thing sometimes, and learned not to say the very wrong ones: even when he can't avoid a situation coming down to a Talk, he usually manages to get his way.

He never expected to have to force one. Maeda-san answered willingly enough, if coldly. Even Izumi responded in a way that could be built on.

But every sentence Hanai speaks is the end of a conversation; faced with that...

Maybe it's time for a change of plan.

* * *

Hikaru is the first thing he sees when he comes in. The frame isn't set to that purpose but after talking, thinking about her the whole way back, it seems natural that his eyes would seek her picture. The frame is askew; Hanai is almost sure it wasn't when he left. 

He's so busy wondering that he doesn't hear the steps until there are arms wrapped around his waist and the weight of a forehead against his back.

Tajima's just wrapped himself around him, and Hikaru grins on at them.

He closes his eyes, grits his teeth.

"Let go. Now."

* * *

Tajima, of course, has never obeyed an order in his life unless he was planning on doing it all along anyway. He'll pretend not to hear, or nod before doing his own thing.

Or answer "I don't want to," in a tone indicating that he's prepared to argue the point until the cows come home.

Only Hanai's had the argument --every possible argument-- in his head so many times that there is nothing Tajima can say that he can't efficiently counter or deny.

The fists defiantly clenched in his jacket loosen a little. "You look like you need a hug."

* * *

Whether he's wielding a bat half a world away or being stubbornly adhesive in Hanai's living room, Tajima remains an unsolved mystery. His common sense is not so much nonexistent as rotated, ninety degrees from everyone else's. But somehow he gets by.

Hanai wants to know why he came here, why he took the trouble to find him and hop here as if it was no more hassle than taking a bus. How he got both Hikaru and Izumi to talk.

He wants to know but he doesn't want to ask, in case the answer makes no sense at all.


	3. xxi - xxx

Stillness is only ever temporary. It's in the minutes before waking, the seconds between a nod and a pitch, the moment between breathe in and breathe out. Tajima doesn't dislike it, because it's a time to focus on the task ahead and isn't meant to last.

It's lasting now, since Hanai's shoulders loosened into a posture he could keep for hours. There's no other reaction to his words, so it's Tajima's move again. He takes a chance: flattens his hands lightly over fabric, and tilts his head to press his lips on Hanai's neck.

The elbow takes him by surprise.

* * *

Tajima doesn't understand the concept of limits. He'll accept "yes" as an answer, and on a good day might even acknowledge "no", but "this far and no further" simply doesn't get through to him. Give him a little and he'll push for more, relentlessly.

The fact that he forgot this is more of a shock to Hanai than the suddenly intimate touch. He reacts on instinct, spins around and away, suddenly panicked.

It's not far enough: instinct's elbow catches Tajima in the chest, making him stumble back with a shocked look that shouldn't make Hanai feel guilty.

It does anyway.

* * *

Of all the tasks Hanai ever had as captain of a team, the most frustratingly repetitive one was stopping Tajima from stripping in public. He grew pretty efficient at it, but it required much more body contact that he could handle at this point.

So there's Tajima standing there half-naked and poking gingerly at the impact point on his chest, and Hanai torn between checking for a visible mark and not staring.

"I'm going to take a shower," Tajima announces as if it was the natural conclusion to the incident.

Hanai can't help but feel that he's being indulged.

* * *

Tajima doesn't notice how tired he is until the water is pounding like needles on his back, too hard and too hot.  
It's his body clock still on Japanese time, of course, and also the difference between seeking something out of sight and chasing after someone who's right here, behind a door, and still unreachable. 

The shower was only an excuse to retreat, take a break; but he can tell, now, it's not going to be enough. Sleep is what he needs, and more time to figure out what to do now.

But first, he has a question to ask.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, the door opens on "Why won't you sleep with me?"

It's so wrong a thing to ask that the only answer Hanai finds is another question. "Is that what you came here for?" That would be senseless, disproportionate in a way only Tajima can be, but easy. 

"No." Droplets run down his arm as he grabs his shirt, mesmerizing. "But I want it, and you want it. Why be difficult?"

Why indeed, if they're bargaining? "If I do, will you go?"

Tajima whips around, eyes blazing with a seriousness Hanai hasn't seen in a long time.

"No."

* * *

After his fifth yawn, Tajima announces his intention to go to bed without waiting for dinner. 

It's satisfying for two reasons: first because it settles the score for today, second because it means that even Tajima's body can't ignore jetlag for very long before crashing.

He's only human after all.

The bedroom door closes, leaving Hanai alone with his thoughts.

He eats warmed up canned soup and does the dishes; straightens Hikaru's picture and tries to read a book. It's long past midnight when he gives up, and finally opens the door to his bedroom.

The air mattress is empty.

* * *

Tajima is so mobile that any line drawn for him needs to be a sphere, perfectly closed and encompassing.

Even so, there's one Hanai is going to have to draw: he will not be a guest in his own house just because Tajima decided to show up. There can only be one on the bed, and by gods it's going to be him.

"But it's cold," Tajima protests sleepily, nose wrinkled in a way that makes him look ten years younger, tired and vulnerable.

Hanai's resolution falters.

"Fine. But if you try anything I'm kicking you out on the street."

* * *

Surprisingly, Hanai doesn't spend the night defending his virtue. He sleeps well enough considering he's long since lost the habit of having someone in his bed, and wakes up at his usual time to find Tajima respecting the letter of the law: curled beside him so close that there's only a veneer of hot, dry air between them, but still not touching. 

A simple shift of position, a twitch, and he'd have Tajima plastered all over him like so many times before.

"Why are you doing this?" Hanai asks wearily, more for himself than out of hope for an answer.

* * *

'Why?' isn't an easy question. Tajima tried to explain when Izumi refused to help, and received a cold look in return.

_You need him, I get it. But that's just your own convenience. If you get your way, it's not going to bring him anything._

It stung, put like that. Something must have shown on his face, because Izumi's features softened.

_You've never had someone run from you before, have you? Then ask yourself: are you doing this because you want to find him, or because he doesn't want you to?_

Tajima didn't know the answer, then.

Now he does.

* * *

He remembers the last time he was like this, sitting on the edge of the bed where Tajima slept, desperately trying to get a grasp on the situation. He remembers denial, anger.

Later came depression; later still, acceptance.

Stages of grief, he was taught in his one psychology class, and it was his relationship with Hikaru that lost its chance on that hotel bed. But all he knew back then was _get away_ , and the option is still tempting.

Then a hand grabs his wrist, and it's not until he turns to look that Tajima, smiling brightly, says "good morning".


	4. xxxi - xl

Hanai had never lived alone before. Parents, sisters, roommates, girlfriend, there had always been someone to talk to when he came home, someone to be silent for when he left for practice in the pre-dawn hours. 

It changed when Hikaru left. The sounds were the ones he made. Not a single thing moved no matter how long he was gone for.

But time passed. He honestly believed it didn't affect him anymore.

But good morning makes him swallow loudly; it feels good, too good and it's only one more day, so...

"Good morning," he replies, and gets up to make coffee for two.

* * *

It should be strange, having to use the pot instead of the more convenient option of instant coffee mixed right in the mug. Sitting down at the kitchen table instead of taking the occasional sip as he prepares to go to work. 

Waiting before he starts drinking, as if there was anyone to have manners for. 

Tajima comes in soon enough, floating in the same old sweatshirt of Hanai's -inherited from his father, the only reason he could give himself for not throwing it away- he already favored in high school. 

It should be strange; what it is is unbearably normal.

* * *

The rest of the early morning is a succession of near-missed catastrophes. Tajima manages to catch Hanai's mug when it falls from its precarious balance on the dresser, but even he isn't so good as to stop the coffee from spilling over the carpet. The hot water tap in the bathroom, having been left to drip, has formed a slippery puddle because of which Hanai almost breaks his neck; and then he can't find anything, clothes, keys, briefcase, nothing is how or where it's supposed to be.

He barely gets to work on time, and remains distracted all morning.

* * *

The decision is made mid-morning during a phone call with one of the firm's oldest contractors, who holds the firm belief that Hanai, being young, must be incompetent and rash. He hangs up, takes a deep breath, and knows that he'll go out for lunch. Where or why, he has no idea, but even if he ends up having a hot dog while wandering the streets, it's better than staying cooped up. 

He misses the fresh air.

Three minutes past noon Sarah walks in hesitantly with a slip of paper between her fingers; he doesn't even glance at it.

* * *

Tajima looks shocked to see him downstairs so quickly; but pleased, his eyes lit in a way that Hanai has only seen once in the past years. On that day Tajima homed in on him, so focused as to be predatory.

This time though, Hanai is determined not to let him get his way. Ignoring him completely seems like a good start, but he can't help but notice that Tajima abandons his conversation with the receptionist a few seconds after seeing him. 

He catches up when Hanai is only a few steps outside, bumping their shoulders together.

Hanai says nothing.

* * *

They end up at an Italian restaurant,where Tajima tries Hanai's patience by challenging his exhaustive translation of the menu. Fueled by his insulted pride and too many late nights spent helping Tajima learn, revise, and in one desperate occasion prepare cheat sheets for his English exams, Hanai doesn't let him get a word in when the waiter asks for their order.

Tajima's indignant glare quickly turns into a pout, then a mischievious grin as he retaliates by stealing Hanai's breadsticks.  
By the time the waiter brings their lunch, Hanai is barely restraining himself from kicking Tajima under the table.

* * *

There's no talking.

The dish (osso-something, meat and rice but nothing Tajima's ever eaten or heard of in Japan) Hanai ordered for him is as difficult to eat as it's tasty. Anyway, Tajima figures that Hanai doesn't have much time for lunch, whatever his job is – something he should have asked Izumi's brother, maybe, but it was hardly a priority at the time. 

They're both silent and focused on their plates but it's still better than before, because Hanai being annoyed at him is much closer to what things used to be than it's been for a long time.

* * *

"Can you lend me some money?" Tajima asks as he pushes his plate away. "I need to buy some clothes this afternoon, 'cause I kind of... " he pulls at the hem of his sweatshirt and sniffs it theatrically, which is more of a show than Hanai needed to get the point.

He's not even sure whose underwear Tajima's been wearing the past two days.

"You'll pay me back as soon as you can?" It's rethorical, merely a way not to say yes out loud. Hanai can accuse Tajima of many things, but he's neither dishonest nor particularly interested in money.

* * *

"Yep, that's enough," he says, sticking the notes in a pocket without even looking at them. Hanai suspects he neither knows nor cares what the yen to dollar conversion rate is these days, but that's Tajima's problem, as long as he buys himself enough stuff to not be wandering around half-naked in Hanai's flat for the next two days. 

Hell, if that can be managed he'll even be glad not to see his money back.

Tajima's looking at him, questioning. "How do I get back into your place once I'm done?"

He's been trying not to think about that.

* * *

Tajima's never been too interested in history or geography. He's not entirely ignorant, though. Some things, he knew even back in high school: touristy building and hot dogs and musicals about tragically doomed love. 

Others, he had to wait to meet models at expensive parties to learn about: art shows, architectural significance, and more fashion than he ever knew existed. So while the primary goal is 'warm and comfortable', Tajima's not lacking in hope of finding something... enticing, perhaps; and this long before his curfew.

 _Be back before eight_ , he repeats to himself, and pats the keyring in his pocket.


	5. xli - l

He gets back around six with fewer bags than he'd expected, and struggles with the top lock – as stubborn as its owner, that thing is- before finally being allowed entrance into the appartment.

For some reason, shopping takes more energy than any game he's ever played, and it doesn't even give him a fraction of the satisfaction, either. The cashmere sweater is warm and soft, the pants just tight enough to have made a dozen heads turn back in the shop, but he's not so stupid as to believe any of that will help him get what he wants.

* * *

Problem is, he's running out of time. Tajima's pretty sure Hanai won't kick him out even if he tries to make another move on him, but that wouldn't be much in the way of progress. As captain he could be terse and commanding as needed, but a soft touch all the same.

So really it's not any good at all, except for the keyring spinning around his forefinger. The temptation was strong to make copies, but that'd probably only make Hanai run even further away. No, he has to hit the pitches he's sent.  
Luckily, that's one thing he's always been good at.

* * *

It seems to take forever for the door to open. By that time Tajima's turned on the lights, found a TV channel that provide decent if incomprehensible background noise, and got Chinese food delivered and spread out on the table.

"Welcome home," he calls.

Hanai stops dead in his tracks, takes a deep breath. "I'm back," he answers. Then, just as Tajima thinks he might have scored a point- "where did you put my keys?"

Reluctantly, Tajima fishes them out of his pocket only to drop them on the table, right by the chow mein. "The food is getting cold."

* * *

The food, in fact, was cold already; as he ran it in the microwave, Hanai wondered if it had cooled down during delivery, or if Tajima had been waiting for him.

Not that it mattered either way, he chastised himself. Whatever Tajima's intentions and motives were, Hanai had his own – which included not letting himself be swayed into... well. Into anything, really.

Not even if he found him fast asleep on the couch when he came back to the living room with their warmed-up dinner – with a slight frown on his face, that looked so easy to smooth over.

* * *

Born the last of five children, Tajima's had no shortage of rough awakenings while growing up; more recently, getting woken up by Abe every morning for two weeks only helped him hone his self-defense instincts.

He grabs the foot poking him in the ribs on the second attack, and tugs; in the end, what really wakes him up is the high-pitched yelp that accompanies it.

His eyes flutter open to find Hanai on the floor, the picture of righteous indignation. "What are you doing on the carpet?" Tajima asks, in all innocence because his head is still fuzzy.

* * *

By the time Hanai's done spluttering at being assaulted and felled in his own house, Tajima's already digging in, having dismissed him completely – which, whether Hanai admits it or not, is part of the reason for the spluttering.

"What kind of beast are you to fall asleep so fast, anyway," he grumbles at last, settling down on the other side of the low table.

"twashtrin," Tajima answers. He swallows, tries again. "It was tiring. The lady made me try half the shop! I think she wanted to play doll."

Or maybe she just liked to look, Hanai doesn't say.

* * *

"Women are scary when shopping is involved, you know."

Mouth full of chicken, Hanai nods his agreement. Years of life with three women has taught him not to stand between them and their sprees, and even to help when recruited.

And then there was the fourth one, firm in the opinion that his role in this matter was to nod and smile.

Her picture is looking above him and her absence feels raw and painful like it hasn't in months. Still it seems like the least dangerous of all the things pushing at him, and so he gives.

"How was she?"

* * *

Hanai's still not looking at him, more like staring off in the distance, but for the moment that's more than fine.

"She looked... okay," Tajima starts, unsure what to say. "She said she wasn't angry anymore."

Hanai snorts at that, and Tajima grimaces a little. "Well, she didn't slap me again?"

"She's not the violent type." A pause, then, with a small smile- "usually." He looks... well Tajima's no good at cataloging these things in words; but Hanai looks like maybe, for her, he'd be tempted to come back to Japan.

But to find what?

"She has a boyfriend now."

* * *

Hanai doesn't answer for the longest time.

"Well, maybe not really a boyfriend, but..." But almost, the way he looked at her, moved around her. Not a boyfriend but patiently waiting to be.

"Ah."

"He looked nice? I think. When I was talking to her he just sort of... glared."

At that Hanai makes a noise, maybe a strangled laugh and maybe a sob. "That's already something to build on." He sighs deeply, shakes his head. "It's good that she has someone to take care of her."

"I think she can take care of herself," Tajima comments.

"Yeah. That too."

* * *

"But Abe isn't sure if she knows that Izumi knows that she's a journalist, so he's always trying to figure it out and..."

By one of his signature far-fetched mental jumps, Tajima has led the conversation safely away from Hikaru and related issues. Distracted, Hanai lets the flow of words wash over him, only paying enough attention to nod or make a semi-relevant comment every now and then. 

Then Tajima stops, and Hanai realizes that he's missed a cue.

"So he doesn't know?" he tries, a shot in the dark if ever there was one.

"Exactly! And then..."


	6. li - lx

Tajima keeps talking long after the remnants of their gourmet meal are cleared, pausing only to take a gulp from the beer can Hanai set in front of him.

He has a lot to say, and it seems like a million things have happened or changed in Japan since he left. Oki's daughter, Mizutani's dog, Abe's neverending strategies, his grandmother's boundless energy despite her age... but the closest Tajima comes to talking about himself is a passing mention of his team's mediocre scores in the last season.

Even withdrawn as he's been, Hanai knows the reason for _that_.

* * *

Back in Nishiura, Tajima used to be the main support of the team's morale, and held the charge flawlessly. From the few encounters Hanai's had with Tajima's earlier teammates, he could tell it had been the same in Arakawa.

It's no secret, today, that the Saitama Seibu Lions have lost their heart.

Or that it's gone tachy, at least. Tense batting, alternance of excessive caution and recklessness, bad judgements. All things considered, he's still good enough to keep batting for the Lions, but from one game to the next his performance ranges from stellar to average without an apparent pattern.

* * *

"Next season will be better, somehow," Tajima says before moving on to the latest semi-public clash between Haruna the Wonder Sports Commentator and Abe the Irritated Agent, featuring Mihashi the Overwhelmed Pitcher as an innocent bystander.

Not listening any harder than before, Hanai realizes he never wondered if this slump bothered Tajima –-or if his coming here might have to do more with escaping than chasing. If that's the case, it wouldn't be right of him to press on the matter, but he still marks the thought for later contemplation.

Then, yawning, he realizes that the hour's grown late.

* * *

Predicting a repeat of the previous night, Hanai leaves more than enough space for his uninvited bedmate by slipping under the covers all the way to the wall. 

Then Tajima comes in wearing new, black boxer briefs and nothing else. Hanai looks away immediately, but not before noticing the curve of a hipbone under the fabric; he turns towards the wall hurriedly, face burning.

Sometimes his body forgets that he's not a teenager anymore.

He tries to relax, enough so that his voice sounds normal when he says "Put a shirt on. And the rule is the same as yesterday."

* * *

There's the sound of shuffling fabric and Hanai is struck with the question of whether it's coming on or coming off.

Then the covers are lifted up behind him and despite all his protestations, he doesn't know what happens should Tajima ignore the warning and wrap himself around him from behind. Because then, knowing him, he'd sneak a hand down Hanai's front and under his loose sweatpants.

Though not so loose anymore, as a matter of fact. Tajima, curse him, always had a knack for noticing these things – and making them worse. 

The covers settle behind him.

"Good night, Hanai."

* * *

And then, he doesn't sleep. Tossing and turning isn't an option, so he lies there on his side for what seems like hours, thoughts swirling in his head so fast he can't seem to grab any of them.

It's not news or anything, but Tajima's presence is really messing him up. The sensible option would be to take a step back, let the rest of the time fly until he's alone again - at which point, Hanai suspects, he might have to spend a few more hours in bed, with tissues for company.

'Messed up' is a hell of an understatement.

* * *

Hanai is not the one who moans. He might be frustrated, might be screwed in the head and laying right next to the one person who knows how to push all his buttons, but he's too stressed and self-conscious to have that kind of dream at the moment, let alone make a noise out loud.

Anyway, he wasn't even sleeping. Not really.

So it's Tajima, who's obviously not stressed enough and making soft needy noises as he squirms and Hanai dimly wonders if the fleeting pleasure of throttling him would be worth the eternal wrath of half of Japan.

* * *

It doesn't take Tajima long to figure that he's dreaming. Because sure he's stupid, but he's not _stupid_ , and he knows a wild fantasy when he dreams one, even if it's been a while. Especially one that turns to a sweaty, involved review of the Kama Sutra in the dugout of Koushien stadium, because that, that... 

Didn't happen.

Therefore, dream. A good one too, so when he feels it slip away he tries to grab onto it, which only makes it evaporate faster, too fast too early no not yet---

He opens his eyes to find Hanai looking at him.

* * *

The plan when he rolled over was to kick Tajima awake, then maybe kick him some more for venting's sake. Given a few more seconds, Hanai would have gone through with it. Probably.

Now it's a whole new ballgame, because Tajima's eyes are focusing on him and his breathing's short and he smells faintly of sex and Hanai is supposed to look away (after a few token kicks) but that doesn't seem to be happening. 

Tajima's lips part on a sigh and Hanai feels the move, the hand reaching for him under the covers.

He catches him at the wrist.

* * *

Of course Hanai's been thinking about it. Difficult not to, in the circumstances, but it was acceptable because if he was careful, if he was cold and callous enough nothing was going to happen. 

If. 

So here's him trapped in a corner, literally, wanting and knowing he shouldn't because hey, it's been a year and he's still living the aftermath of the last time he picked sorry over safe. 

By the law of not being a complete moron that's his decision all made for him; right up until Tajima licks his lips, and says something he didn't say last time.


	7. lxi - lxx

Tajima's usually not one for being held down. Not so fond of bondage really: any hand not in the action is a hand wasted.

Right now he can feel Hanai's thumb against his pulse, and that's nowhere near a turn-off. So he gives up on respecting the rules, and says "please".

Abe used to say that Hanai was an open book; if that's true, it's in a foreign language, because in the dim moonlight his expression goes from conflicted to angry, but when he lets go of Tajima's hand he says "fine" and then...

Oh yeah. Just like that.

* * *

It's good. It's better than good: more action than he's had in weeks, more than he hoped to get tonight. Familiar too, the hand wrapped around his cock, warm and tight and it's like he's back in high school and yeah, nice continuation to the fading dream. And he wouldn't usually look a gift handjob in the palm, but.

But he wants more, wants to touch and hold, skin under his hands and shared sweat because that's how it goes from very good to great and he thinks, the two of them, they've more than built their way up to great.

* * *

The not-so-good thing about this position is that he can't move; can't reach out without making Hanai stop to readjust, which: no. But if he's succeeded, if Hanai has given up on being stubborn, then there's time for Tajima to get to do what he wants – later.

For now he can lay back, melt into the bed and gaze at Hanai, who's biting his lip in concentration, eyes closed, and that's another thing that Tajima will have to work on but later because right now he can't do a thing but clench his fingers on the sheet and--

* * *

He doesn't even get a minute. The instant Tajima is done, the moment his muscles relax and his heartbeat stops accelerating, Hanai wipes his hand on the already stained boxers and rolls around without a word.

Something's not right.

Tajima raises a still shaking hand to touch Hanai's shoulder – and is shrugged off. "You should go and clean that up," Hanai says, and his voice is like his face earlier, on the angry side of unreadable.

"I can..." Tajima tries to offer.

"You can let me sleep. I have work tomorrow."

"But-"

"This is what you wanted. I'm tired now."

* * *

So he gets up, and goes to the bathroom and tidies himself up as best as he can and something must have been wrong with the food, some slow-acting bacteria because he feels sick to his stomach.

Except for the part where it's not because of the food at all. 

So far, Tajima's liberal approach to sex has got him flirted with, lucky, hit on – also hit, slapped, awkward, extremely embarrassed sometimes and almost arrested once... but nauseous, now: that's a first.

"That's _not_ what I wanted," he tells the mirror which, right now, seems more responsive than Hanai.

* * *

One thing neither Izumi nor Abe said was "you're a selfish twat". Tajima doesn't usually need scapegoats, but he thinks, really, they should have told him, just in those words.

Because he never thinks, just reaches for what he wants and now Hanai is mad at him, seriously angry and maybe he was wrong and it's not simply a matter of making him get that he wants it too; maybe Hanai really didn't want it at all and Tajima isn't sure what that makes him, for coming on to him like that after all the times he's been told no.

* * *

In his life, Hanai has never needed to pretend to be asleep.

Or rather, he always suspected that his mother would have known the truth anyway. But he figures, if he's facing the wall there's nothing much that can give him away when Tajima comes out of the bathroom, which should be any second now.

Any minute now.

Right?

Each minute seems to take forever, but eventually the door opens, and Hanai can sense everything, each of the steps that take Tajima straight to the living room, and the quiet, subdued way in which he closes the door between them.

* * *

Earlier in the evening the couch was warm and welcoming; now it's... the opposite, pretty much, but Tajima's had to deal with much worse bedding than this, sometimes in his own house, so he plops down and squirms until he finds a comfortable position.

If said position means he's looking straight at the bedroom door, that's pure coincidence. Hanai has never come after him before (and that was always fine, because Tajima always enjoyed a good chase). He won't tonight, either. 

_This is what you wanted_ , he said, and he was wrongwrongwrong but now Hanai is getting what _he_ wanted: left alone.

* * *

Tajima doesn't come back.

Hanai knows, because he spent an hour listening for the front door. Even after convincing himself that Tajima wouldn't leave in the middle of the night with nowhere to go, he still couldn't make himself fall asleep.

Nevertheless, he must have managed somehow; the blaring alarm clock plucks him out of a dream that withers immediately, and he gets up exhausted and wondering how he could ever have been up daily at 3.45 a.m.

He braces himself before opening the door to the living room – and gets a mug of coffee thrust into his hands.

* * *

"Good morning" and a brilliant smile and Tajima steps back immediately, dressed but barefoot, looking awake and alert – but already distracted by the pan on the hot plate, which turns out to contain a disastrous attempt at scrambled eggs. So he takes the pan to the sink, refills the mug while Hanai takes his shower. He's helpful and stays out of the way and by the time he's ready to leave there is only one thing that Hanai can be sure of anymore:

For as long as he lives, he will never understand what goes on in Tajima's head.


	8. lxxi - lxxx

Destabilized as he is, Hanai keeps expecting something else to happen: anything really between finding all his socks flushed down the loo in revenge or Tajima bursting into the bathroom in the middle of his shower.

Or maybe just waking up.

He waits for it, anxious, until he's about to leave – early for the first time this week. "I'm going to the Empire State Building tonight. Come along, it'll be fun," Tajima says, the same way he once suggested sneaking out to the Kobe Port Tower after their first practice in Koushien. "And tomorrow I'll get a hotel room."

* * *

Hanai makes his exit on a mumbled okay, but getting to work early for once does nothing for his productivity. Sarah's been shooting increasingly worried looks his way for the past few days; at one point mid-morning Hanai thinks she's about to say something, but she swallows it into a comment about a phone call he needs to make, which leads him all the way into a somewhat stale sandwich taken at his desk.

It doesn't go down well. At least that's what Hanai tells himself, as the afternoon hours tick away inexorably and his stomach feels increasingly knotted.

* * *

It's a windy afternoon; from the bottom, the building looks like it's swaying dangerously. Hanai distracts himself from the vague unease caused by the dancing red and green lights at the top by spotting Tajima, which is easier than it should be – a captain's instinct, he used to think, before realizing that Tajima always seemed to see him first.

"I got the tickets!" and a wave of two paper rectangles is all the greeting Hanai gets -- until he's close enough, at which point Tajima grabs his wrist with snake-like speed and drags him towards the queue to the elevator.

* * *

"Hanai, look! It's awesome! And there, look at the lights!" Over five years later and Tajima is still a kid in a candy store, eyes sparkling in unashamed delight as he stares at the trail of cars down below. Hanai gets pulled throughout the whole observatory, by wrist and elbow and shoulder; the touches are so light, so fleeting that they don't even really register as such until Tajima's fingertips slide across the back of his neck. But that, too, only lasts a split second and a moment later Tajima is pointing at something out the window again, seemingly oblivious.

* * *

Hanai takes a break after half an hour of staring at the (admittedly stunning) panorama to go grab two cans of soda, the first excuse he could come up with. He comes back to find Tajima's forehead pressed on the window, and deja vu strikes hard: to that afternoon in Kobe, when the long-awaited Koushien tournament finally stretched ahead of them and for a stolen moment as their star batter stared straight ahead through the glass of the observatory he looked like he wanted to fly away, up and up and further up until he disappeared in the sunshine.

* * *

Seized by a sudden attack of stupid teenagehood, Hanai makes his presence known by sticking one of the ice-cold cans against Tajima's cheek, which makes him jerk and flail and yell and the people around them glare not-so-discreetly at his antics.

"You're making a scene," he scolds in his best Abe impersonation, which helped him with the team all throughout high school.

"Whose fault is that," Tajima grumbles, but he takes a sip anyway, which somehow leads right into a completely logical follow-up of "I'm hungry."

Tajima-sense is another country, but it's weirdly interesting to visit.

* * *

After a long, heated debate between pizza, burgers or proper food (Hanai is not sure where the third opinion came from, and can only suppose someone in the elevator going down threw it during a lull just to mess up the rhythm of their argument), the winner turns out to be hotdogs – from the street corner where Tajima's keen nose led them.

Somehow they continue arguing about food even as they eat. It goes on and on even after the greasy wrappers are tossed away; the hour's getting late, and they're still wandering around when the first snowflakes start falling.

* * *

By the time they get back to Hanai's flat, Tajima's hair is covered in melting flakes of white, and he's trying to catch them in his bare hands and all Hanai wants is to be seventeen again, for grins and snowball fights and no other complication than the next game's lineup. 

"I told you it'd be fun," Tajima claims, head bent back and mouth open to catch the snow. He stays like this for a moment before turning to him, wearing an unreadable smile. "Thanks for coming with me tonight."

Then again, at seventeen there were other things Hanai wanted.

* * *

One more night, and it's over. One more night of this, and after that Hanai can finally come home to a bit of sorting through everything and remind himself why it was so important to say no, to spend all this time and energy resisting the temptation to do it just this once.

Why just once is never enough, because with everything he gets he wants more, while Tajima moves on as soon as he gets off, to the next shiny thing that catches his attention. But Hanai won't be the one to put Tajima in shackles, and so:

No.

* * *

No is no is no and still Hanai lingers at the door after Tajima settles on the couch, because after tonight that's it, they go back to their lives, and sure Hanai wants this to end, but-- not just now.

So he sits down by the couch, turns on the TV and doesn't protest when Tajima's fingers curl in his hair, rub at his scalp as some wacky soap opera unfolds on the screen in what may or may not be Brazilian.

When the hand slows down, twitches a few time before falling away, he doesn't say a thing either.


	9. lxxxi - xc

This is how it ends: Tajima is still asleep, or pretending to be asleep, when Hanai takes off the next morning. He arrives at work without anything noticeable happening, speeds his way through three days' worth of tedious paperwork before lunch, and finds himself at a loss when it comes to deciding where to go.

At which point the previous evening's argument comes back, and he shakes his head at his reflection in the window before heading out for a pizza, at the Italian restaurant where he gets seated at the same table as two days earlier; but by himself.

* * *

There are a lot of things to be done when Hanai walks back to his office: notices to draft and phone calls to make.

He drafts, he makes; at the pace of a snail, the afternoon turns into early evening.

Eventually Sarah bids him goodbye, with the worried voice she uses every time she sees him buried in a pile of papers past nine on a Friday; he waves her off, stretches his neck, then leans back into his chair, yawning.

One more check of his emails, he decides, and then it's home, sleep, and whatever comes in the morning.

* * *

He opens that email as he has the past dozen, without even glancing at the subject line or sender – and freezes as an attached picture loads up on the screen.

Of two men standing face to face on a busy pavement, the focus on them giving a strange impression of stillness against the blurry crowd walking around them. 

There's nothing special about the picture itself, or about the next one, taken through a restaurant window as they sit across from each other.

Or the one after that.

Except, the faces are pixellated beyond recognition.

Except, it's obviously him and Tajima.

* * *

"What the hell is this?"

"I take it you got my message?"

"Where did you get those pictures?"

"A little bird told me."

"Izumi..."

"Sorry. The journalist who did that piece on Mihashi."

"The one who may or may not know that you're feeding her carefully selected information?"

"I'd say she still doesn't, since she forwarded me those to see if I'd recognize the 'other guy'. Which I obviously didn't."

"Where did she get them?"

"Couldn't say. Anonymous source sent them to all possibly interested parties, looking for a highest bidder for what I assume would be the money shots."

* * *

Only then does the implication hit that Tajima was followed here – probably, as Izumi sneers a second later, by someone who calls themselves an 'investigative reporter'. 

"But there _is_ no money shot." 

"Did you see the last picture?"

He hasn't. 

It's one taken at the observatory, of him heading to the vending machine. And Tajima, at the other edge of the picture, turned away from the window and looking at him. His eyes were left clear in this one, and Hanai has to look away because he can read longing and sadness, emotions that just don't belong on Tajima's face.

* * *

There is still no money shot."

"Really." Izumi doesn't sound disbelieving, but maybe a little curious.

"Really." Hanai retorts; and then, because he's a loser: "Why would you think otherwise?"

Izumi scoffs. "You think I would have told him how to find you without a good reason?"

"What's a good reason?"

"The one he gave me. Kinda."

"Being?" The captain voice comes back easily, but is not quite sufficient. It never did work well on Izumi.

"I'm not telling. And he won't either, if he hasn't yet. You know he was never very good at putting two and two together."

* * *

The third time Izumi doesn't answer the question, Hanai stops trying. Class loyalty is what it is, even years later; and if it's something else he doesn't want to know.

"What is Abe saying about this?" 

"Haven't told him yet. But any scandal involving Tajima is going to reflect badly on Mihashi, so when he finds out you'll probably hear him from where you are." 

Hanai has the time to be grateful for the distance between him and Japan (Abe), before he notices. "Why are you telling me about this anyway?"

Izumi lets the question ring. "Because Tajima won't care."

* * *

"I don't care," Tajima says, but it's not that simple. First Hanai came back to an empty flat as expected, finding no sign of Tajima's presence but the yellow pages book open to H on a table and scribbles around one of the entries. 

He didn't wonder about the fact that it had obviously been left there on purpose; spent the next ten minutes attempting to talk an operator into bypassing a 'do not disturb' sign, until she remembered to ask his name, and forwarded the call right after he told her.

All to find out that Izumi was right.

* * *

There are so many things wrong with Tajima's carelessness that for a moment Hanai has no idea what to say. Shouldn't it be self-evident, even to him, that being followed around by a photographer while hitting on a guy is not a good thing for him, nor for anyone else that might get involved?

It's as though he has no idea what the consequences might be, can't even imagine the scandal that would ensue, the number of people who would be affected: his team and its sponsors, his family, Nishiura, Mihashi, Abe... Not to mention Hanai himself.

And Hikaru.

* * *

The perspective of Hikaru being dragged back into this sordid affair for having made the mistake of challenging Tajima in public once turns frustration to anger.

"How can you not care," he grits out into the phone. "You're a public figure, you're supposed to be an example! Half of Japan is looking up to you!"

"You're not." It's so soft, Hanai isn't sure he heard right.

"What?"

"You're not looking," Tajima repeats, and Hanai thinks this is the voice that goes with that last picture, the longing and defeat that just don't fit him at all. "So I don't care."


	10. xci - c

Hanai lets himself fall on the couch, throws one arm over his eyes, and he can almost picture Tajima, standing in the largest room of the highest floor of his four-star hotel, staring out the window at the lights of the city. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You looked at me before. All the time." 

He's gnashing his teeth before the words even register, because he did, of course he did, everyone knew that, but what purpose does it serve to say it out loud now, except to make him feel as inadequate as he did in high school?

* * *

"I wanted to be you." He's never admitted it out loud before, to anyone, had thought it would be too painful and embarrassing to, but the words come out clipped and clear and the only feeling behind them is anger, and maybe the liberation of having just jumped off a cliff. "In every way. Didn't you know that?"

Only silence comes from the other end of the line, so the words keep pouring out, laced with venom. "Is that what this is all about? You just want to have someone who envies you? 'cause if that's the case, it's sick."

* * *

"THAT'S NOT IT!" The yell pierces through the bitter torrent of words.

And an eardrum.

"That's not it," Tajima repeats, and he sounds just a little annoyed, like he's the one who's being wronged here. Which doesn't help. "But watching me the whole time, aren't you the one who knows me best?"

Only for Tajima could that ever make sense in any universe. "Don't be stupid."

"But I really think so! That's why..."

Any minute now, Hanai is going to feel his brain pouring out of his ears. 

But somehow, with those few sentences, the blind, crushing anger has vanished.

* * *

"You're not making sense. I'm sure you're not lacking in people who want to understand you."

"But they're just friends."

Leave it to Tajima to worry about who will take care of his dick. " _And_ who'd fall over themselves to sleep with you."

"But they're just sex friends." Urge to kill: rising. "Anyway, it's better with you."

"Eh?"

"Sex!" he sounds almost contemplative, and Hanai feels like beating his head up on something. "Because, everyone always just expects me to make them feel good, but you... fight back, I guess?"

"...Fight back."

"Un!"

"Were you raised in a bear pit?"

* * *

"That's mean, Hanai." It's easy to tell he's pouting now. It's weird, how at any given moment he's an open book, but in the long run his thought processes never seem to make sense at all."After I said all that, too."

What does he expect, extra points for saying that--

That...

_No one knows me like you do._

_You're not paying attention to me, so I don't care about the rest._

_I'd rather have you._

Mouth dry and head swimming, Hanai takes a short breath. "Get yourself back here," he orders, and hangs up without listening for an answer.

* * *

He immediately drops the phone on the couch, as if scalded by his own instruction. His heart is beating too fast, too hard, his breath coming in too short.

 _A panic attack attack at a time like this?_ Is the clinical question asked by a voice in his head that sounds a little too much by Izumi, as the rest of him tries to catch his breath.

Izumi who thought that Tajima had yet failed to draw an obvious conclusion about why he was here.

And what if the conclusion that seems so obvious to a third party is that--

* * *

Five minutes later, having more or less regained his ability to breathe normally, Hanai gets up and starts pacing. He's not exactly chasing after Tajima again (ever again), but telling him to come back isn't quite the best way to end this mess. On the other hand, if he's right (if Izumi's right), that's not a conversation he wants to have on the phone.

Because if it so happens that the person you most want to sleep with is also the one whose attention and approval you crave, then doesn't that mean..

Doesn't that make him the one that Tajima--

* * *

It feels as though he spends forever pacing back and forth in the living room, trying to decide what to do, what to say, what to think; yet the banging on the door catches him by surprise.

He opens it to find Tajima dramatically underdressed for the weather, out of breath as though he's just run the whole distance from the hotel (but surely he would not have been so stupid as to forego taking a cab, right? Right?) and looking at him with so much hope that Hanai finds all the counter-arguments to his latest theory melt away.

* * *

"You couldn't have said that earlier? You couldn't help acting like a pervert, could you?"

Tajima opens his mouth, presumably to answer, but Hanai refuses to let this one moment of certainty be wasted. He steps in, to kiss the corner of Tajima's mouth. "You're an idiot."

"I know," is Tajima's dazed answer, "but Abe said I shouldn't..." he trails off, seems to reconsider the use of talking, and a moment later he's all over Hanai, body and hands and mouth.

He stops just as suddenly, lets his forehead fall on Hanai's shoulder, arms holding on tightly around his waist.

* * *

"What should I do?" Tajima wonders aloud, making Hanai scoff.

"You? You always know what to do." The idea of Tajima of all people suffering from existential doubt seems ludicrous.

"But if I do something wrong you'll push me away again." He sounds almost worried, definitely unsure, and it stings Hanai a little that he made Tajima feel like that, even as exhilaration floods over him because _he_ made _Tajima_ feel like _that_.

"Not this time," he says, low so his voice doesn't break in the middle.

"Really?" Blatantly disbelieving.

"Really."

Tajima pulls back, grins, and falls to his knees.


	11. ci - civ

Standstill. 

The room is mostly dark, lit by nothing but the reading lamp at the window and the lights of the city: more than enough, if everything is done by touch. 

Tajima kneels on the carpet in the middle of the room; one hand grips the back of Hanai's thigh, the other has sneaked under his shirt and rests flat across his stomach.

Hanai stands, blushing deeply. Stares down at the undone button of his trousers, embarrassingly hard and dimly worried that at this rate he'll end up coming from nothing more than Tajima sucking a hickey on his hip.

* * *

"What are you doing?" he asks, eventually. It comes out as a gasp.

Tajima takes his time, gives one last swirling lick before he pulls away. "Last time you wouldn't have let me leave a mark."

Nor any of the times before, so worried he was that one of their teammates would notice – or worse, an authority figure. Getting to Koushien was difficult enough without a scandal in the baseball team, so it soon became habit to push Tajima off anytime he threatened to mark the skin.

"You wanted to?" Hanai wonders aloud.

The look he gets is answer enough.

* * *

Tajima hasn't moved, is still kneeling at Hanai's feet. "I wanted everyone to know," he mumbles against Hanai's hips, his breath creating shivers on the sensitized skin. "Every time. That you chose me."

Hanai's heart skips a beat as he's reminded of the time he chose, of the hot dead air surrounding him and the dryness in his throat when he answered someone else's (Mizutani, maybe?) question –"yes, there's someone I like, and I'm not telling you who"- as his hand found Tajima's in the grass, lacing their fingers together in the conclusion of weeks of a nerve-wracking chase.

* * *

"Fuck me," Tajima asks, eyes clear and intent. "Like you did her."

"I didn't," Hanai answers instantly, because such a crude word in conjunction with Hikaru scritches like fingernails on a blackboard, except – except for those few times when things got rough and heated and Hanai sort of lost control. How long did it take him to realize that those always happened after watching a game, after a big hit or a miraculous catch?

Tajima peers at him, the way he does when he's reading Hanai's thoughts. "Make love, then," and he reclines on the bed, pulling Hanai along.

* * *

It's not the same as with Hikaru, for more than the obvious reason. Tajima under him doesn't feel precious but strong and resilient; the fingers on his arms are clenching so hard as to leave bruises instead of resting gently on the skin. The thought still feels a little like betrayal, but... It's so much better.

After all this time Tajma feels so much better than Hikaru, than anyone, and the truth is there and Hanai can't escape it, not with him looking like this, focused and intense and thinking about nothing else than the two of them, here, now.


End file.
